


Oracular Spectacular

by JohnMyBeloved



Series: Stories of Dele and Eric [1]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: English National Team, Eric is extra, Fifa 2018 World Cup, Fifa 2022 World Cup, German National Team, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Portuguese National Team, bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15320577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohnMyBeloved/pseuds/JohnMyBeloved
Summary: There was just something about Dele. Something unnameable, undescribible, unfathomable. Something that drove Eric mad. Ever since 2015 when the younger boy ploughed into his life and dragged him into the hurricane known as 'dele alli's life'. But for all the confusion, both in head and heart, Dele had caused him- Eric wouldn't have traded it for all the trophies and money in the world.Aka: four years after Russia, Dele and Eric are determined to win the Tournament and each other’s hearts.





	Oracular Spectacular

R U S S I A   2 0 1 8

 

W E D N E S D A Y

 

When the referee blew the whistle, it felt as though the whole world had collapsed in on itself, dragging the players down to their muddy knees with the disappointment of their nation loading down on their shoulders.

 

Croatia 2, England 1.

 

The Croatian players and fans screamed and yelled alike in joy and excitement, enveloping whoever closest into a crushing embrace, slapping kisses onto foreheads and cheeks.

 

While the lads donned in white collapsed from a mixture of exhaustion and heartbreak.

 

Eric knew it was going to happen at some point, he knew that England were never going to reach the final and win the cup, but as each game passed and more and more high ranking teams fell from the stages, the seeds of hope in his heart began to grow and blossom until he could finally truthfully say aloud, "we could win this." Croatia were a good team, they had proved that and so they deserved to win the game. But part of him couldn't stop thinking that England _should've_ won.

 

The cheers from the crowd were deafening, both English and Croatians clapping and whooping. Eric broke from his frozen position of his head in his hands, crouched and resting on the balls of his feet, to scan the remaining players around him. Until he found the person he was looking for; Dele.

 

He stood up and slowly walked over to where his curly haired friend sat, tears filling up his eyes and a moment away from bursting their banks to roll down his red cheeks. As he walked past his dejected teammates, he clasped them by their shoulders, squeezing firmly to remind them that they did their best and to look how far they made it. Some looked up at him and smiled tearfully, like Kyle, but others like Jesse just continued to stare into space, defeated.

 

Eric felt as though his head were in a fish bowl, with all the noise around him blurring into one blearing sound, however he could make a few things out as he continued over to Dele; the tinny pop music being played out over the tannoys as fans began to leave the stadium, Gareth's words of almost fatherly wisdom being said to the Harrys, and the English fans belting out “Don't Look Back In Anger” at the tops of their lungs. And that's what broke his heart even more, that the passionate people who flew over 3,000 miles to see them play, weren't angry and hateful because of the loss, instead they were proud of the team for getting to the semis in the first place. They deserved to see their country win.

 

He ran a hand through his sweaty hair and stopped once in front of Dele. He crouched to his height, then wrapped his arms around him and pulled the younger man into his chest. Dele held onto the back of his muddy shirt with an iron grip and followed Eric's lead to stand. One hand migrated from Dele's back and found its way to his dark, curly hair and patted it gently. Dele gripped Eric harder and pushed his face into the pale skin of Dier's neck, choking on his breaths and words, sobs shaking his body as he used all his power to hide his distraught state from the cameras and fans, as well as the other players.

 

Eric sighed softly as his heart shattered, he wanted to make all this disappear. He hated seeing his best friend in such a state, he wished that he could snap his fingers and change everything. Perhaps he could've ran faster when he was passed the ball, or jumped higher to head the free kick into the goal, or swipe the ball from Mandzukić and Perisić's feet when he had the chance. Maybe then they would've won. Maybe then he'd be hugging a crying Dele in celebration and not defeat.

 

"We were so close," Dele whispered into his neck, "so fucking close!"

 

"I know, Del. I know." Was all he could say, repeated over and over like a mantra. What else was he to say? He knew that they were so close to the final, they could almost taste it. Even if France had went on to beat them, it wouldn't have matter. Maybe next time they'd get their chance again.

 

-

 

Q A T A R   2 0 2 2

 

The Doha air was a scorching 40°C, but luckily for the men, the staff had turned the air-conditioning on in the training facilities; bringing the temperature down to a cooler, more reasonable level. And yet, the inside pitch was alive with moaning and groaning about the heat. Sweat caused training shirts to cling to reddened skin and players to pat at their foreheads every thirty seconds to stop it from getting into their eyes. It was almost impossible to keep their concentration on tackling and shooting while their bodies craved for the litres of crisp water that lay on the tables around the training facility.

 

"It's too hot!" Eric hissed as he missed another pass from Dele during their pair's exercise. The ball bounced off a nearby wall and rolled back lazily to his toes. The other man laughed and caught the ball when passed back.

 

"I thought you'd be alright with this sort of weather, being Portuguese and that," he teased.

 

Eric frowned and rolled his eyes, "I've been living in bloody England for too long, I've lost my resistance to the heat. I've reverted back to my English form," he snarled back, catching the ball on his chest and landing in on his foot; where he proceeded to do keepy uppies while Dele snickered.

 

"Obviously."

 

All Eric could be bothered to do in retaliation was glare. "I thought Russia was bad with all the insects, this is worse."

 

Dele shrugged, "I dunno; Russia was hot and full of insects. I think I breathed in an entire extended family of midges during the game against Tunisia."

 

"this is still worse."

 

"Drama queen," Dele tutted, smiling.

 

Eric rolled his eyes and ran the few feet between them, before putting Dele's head in a headlock and messing up his wild hair. The man wheezed in laughter while simultaneously trying to get the older man to release him. The two were soon winded and Eric let his arms loosen, allowing Dele to escape and take his revenge by jumping on his back and wrapping his arms around him like a koala. The pair continued to cackle in amusement.

 

"Oi love birds, are you done petting each other yet? You going to join us or what?" Kyle shouted from the doors leading to the corridor out of the training pitch. Next to him stood Marcus and Jesse, giggling.

 

Dele gave Eric one final squeeze before letting him go and grinning, a blush appearing on his face. From the physical exertion obviously. It was at this point that they realised that they were the last players on the green. The blonde ruffled his friend's hair once more before jogging over to where their three teammates stood waiting, Dele followed shortly, grabbing two water bottles as he passed a table loaded with them. He passed one to Eric before taking a swig of his own.

 

"Thanks, Del," Eric smiled. Dele smiled back.

 

-

 

T U E S D A Y

 

They were where they had been four years prior, about to enter the pitch from the tunnel, about to start the semi-final. Although this time, it was Germany they were facing not Croatia. They had already faced many countries that ended in success, winning all but two games- one draw and one loss. This was the big one now. The last hurdle to jump before they could reach the final.

 

Dele didn't want to focus on that. He only wanted to focus on the here-and-now, he'd learnt his lesson on idolising the future. He clasped Eric's shoulder and brought him closer so he could whisper in his ear, "you ready?"

 

Eric chuckled quietly and whispered, "nope. You?"

 

"Never." The two threw smiles at each other and outstretched their arms, hands finding each other and grasping tightly but gently- sweaty palm against sweaty palm.

 

It was their thing, before every match, to squeeze each other's hand and make some stupid joke. It set them at ease, made it easier for them to think of the games as just a Spurs friendly back home. The other players had grown accustomed to their little ritual, however they still made fun out of them each time.

 

"C'mon ladies, get ready," Raheem called over his shoulder. The pair laughed and squeezed the other's hand once more before letting go. The crowd roared as the captains of each team stepped out onto the pitch, and the heart rates of each player, German and English, sky rocketed into the heavens.

 

Once on the pitch, Dele and Eric lined up and as the national anthem sounded out over the tannoys, they sang out each word as loud as they could. And once that was done, they clapped each other's shoulders one more time and grinned at each other. Time to start.

 

 

The game overall was rather uneventful until Müller scored in the 74th minute to a soundtrack of screaming and chanting fans. It hit Dele like a truck, it was going to be like Russia all over again. And he refused to let that happen. Once the game fell back into a rhythm and the Germans were still feel the euphoric adrenaline in their veins, Dele set about his plan.

 

He watched as Walker took the ball off Özil and began the run towards the German goal. He started to run. The ball was passed to Trippier then to Eric who swerved to avoid Draxler, and looked for a way out. Dele continued to run until a clear path emerged between him and his best friend. Eric saw it too and sent the ball his way. Now with the ball at his feet, time seemed to slow down, as though he watching an action film and Vin Diesel was about to do some extreme car flip or something. The crowd fell away to silence in his mind, the players around him disappeared and the only person he could see was Neuer dressed in green ahead, jumping from side to side.

 

He pulled back his foot and struck the ball with everything he had, sending it flying through the air. He froze as the ball approached the goal, where Neuer leapt into the air, hands outstretched ready to catch it.

 

Every player, fan, manager and commentator waited with baited breath.

 

The ball hit the net. Relief and exhilaration flooded Dele's body as he screamed in triumph. The stadium went wild.

 

His teammates ran towards him like a herd of red elephants and pulled him to the grass, all piling on top of him and yelling in delight. They whooped and cheered before getting up and beaming at him as they ran back to their positions. Eric, however, pulled him into his arms and planted a kiss on his cheek. He yelled a "well done, Delboy," and jogged off.

 

Dele gingerly places his fingers to the burning spot left on his cheek by Eric, his skin burning with a blush. He reminded himself of where he was and shook any thoughts from his head. Time to get another goal in.

 

And when Kane scored in the 88th minute, it felt as though the stars, the planets and the whole damn universe had aligned in favour of the boys in red. When the final whistle blew, the team couldn't keep the tears from their eyes- but unlike four years before, the tears were born of sheer happiness not disappointment.

 

This time Southgate ran onto the pitch shouting praises and cheers instead of words of condolences.

 

Eric and Dele found each other again and crashed together in a desperate hug, laughing and joking.

 

"We did it this time, Delboy!" The blonde yelled. The curly haired boy was basically vibrating in joy.

 

"Yeah we did!"

 

-

 

It was 11pm that night and Eric couldn't sleep. It wasn't the heat keeping him awake, or the nerves he held for Sunday's final- he thought. He just wanted to speak to someone.

 

A specific someone.

 

He crawled out of his bed and put on a vest and shorts before opening his door and slipping his keycard into his pocket. He walked a few doors down to where he knew Dele's room was and knocked lightly. He knew that the other players would be fast asleep by now but he didn't want to risk waking them. He knew that Dele could be asleep but the rule between them was different.

 

They both knew that the other would always be there for the other, no matter the reason- big or small- nor what time it was.

 

Eric had noticed that over the past few months he had had this feeling in his chest. It swelled in size once every while, each time coinciding with being around Dele. It crushed his lungs and heart in a tight vice, squeezing tighter and tighter at every word or touch. He felt his face blush whenever the boy walked into the room and his head went fuzzy at every interaction.

 

He wasn't stupid nor ignorant. He knew that he had feelings for Dele that passed all boundaries of friendship and even bromance. But he wouldn't allow himself to act upon it, no matter how much he wanted to. It could possibly ruin their on pitch dynamic especially if one day they found that they wouldn't work out. And he couldn't imagine how the footballing world would react if either one revealed that they were anything but straight.

 

He knocked again and he could hear the sound of footsteps before the door opened with a yawn. Dele rubbed his eyes at the bright corridor lighting and tilted his head in confusion until he saw that it was Eric at his door.

 

"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," Eric said guiltily, trying to look anywhere that wasn't Dele's adorably sleepy face. His eyes were wide and even in the pale light Eric could clearly see all his well defined features and and tempting plump lips.

 

"No, it's fine. what's up?" He whispered back.

 

"Nothing, I'm sorry. I just couldn't sleep. Can I come in?" He asked. Dele nodded almost instantly and opened the door wider to allow him in. The room was much like the one Eric was staying in- open plan and up to date with all the latest hotel gizmos.

 

Dele took him by the hand and led him to the large kings size bed in the middle of the room. The dark skinned boy sat down first, pulling his friend down with him. From their spot, they could see the bright lights of the Doha skyline with giant skyscrapers and vast department stores.

 

With their hands intertwined, the pair sat in a comfortable silence; just listening to each other breath softly.

 

After a few minutes of serenity, Eric spoke, "well done for today. You did absolutely amazing."

 

Dele ducked his head in bashfulness, "thank you. I just couldn't let us be knocked out in the semis again."

 

"Well because of you, we had a chance of winning the match. You've made everyone here and at home proud. Especially me."

 

Dele sighed, smiled and leant closer to Eric and put his head on the other man's shoulder, his nose almost brushing the blushing skin of his neck. Eric strained to ignore the way his body reacted to the touch with his heart thudding like a stomping crowd and skin prickling with the desire to touch Dele's.

 

"If it wasn't for you doing that brilliant pass, I would've have been able to do it. Really you saved the day. England's hero."

 

Eric's blush on his cheeks darkened as he laughed. "Hmmm, I don't think so."

 

Dele pulled away and put his hands on each side of Eric's face. They were now so close that the blonde could feel the other man's breath on his nose and lips; he fought the urge to push himself forward and touch Dele's lips with his own. He looked away from his friend's piercing gaze.

 

"You listen here, Dier. Without you, there would've been no goal. You need to give yourself credit once in a while, you've been like this since Russia."

 

"C'mon I scored an own goal only a couple of weeks ago against Poland- causing us to lose. I'm surprised Southgate hasn't kept me on the bench for every game."

 

"That wasn't your fault, Eric. Lewandowski's shot was gonna go in the goal anyway even if it hadn't hit off your big head. If anything, I should've put goal in when I had the chance- but I didn't, and neither did Harry or Raheem or Vardy, so it's all our fault that we lost. Not your's alone," Dele said with a weird tone in his voice. He almost sounded pained, and Eric needed to break from his grip before he did something to wipe the melancholy from his face.

 

He took the soft hands from his face and held them in his own. He sighed before placing them back in Dele's lap and pulling himself away on his elbows so he could lie flat on the silky duvet. He heard Dele huff before following him and settling down next to him, staring up at the ceiling as he did.

 

He curly haired man soon grew bored of the silence and rolled over so he could place his head on his friend's sturdy chest, with his hair tucked under and tickling Eric's chin. Eric began to run his fingers through the dark hair and lightly massaged his scalp. Dele practically purred in response and nuzzled into his chest further, he pulled his arm from his side and draped it over Eric where it came to rest on the pale skin of his hip.

 

"How come you're so cuddly all of a sudden?" Not that Eric wasn't absolutely thrilled with the proximity but for the past few months, it felt as though his and Dele's physical displays of affection had become fewer and fewer until even some of the other lads had asked if something had happened. He wasn't sure himself.

 

"You woke me up, and I'm sleepy and you're nice to sleep on. Deal with it Dier.

 

"And I've missed us, missed this," he mumbled sleepily. And looked up at Eric with his big doe eyes, the blonde once again was doing all he could to not give in to kissing him.

 

"I've missed us too," Eric replied with a shaky breath.

 

"I'm sorry about how I was when we were back at home, I was just trying to work through some stuff and I ended up cutting out the things that mean the most to me."

 

Eric couldn't reply.

 

"I broke up with Ruby. It just wasn't working you know, it was no one's fault. We both realised that we wanted other people, just took some time for me to realise who," Dele explained slowly.

 

Eric's heart plummeted and soared at the same time, conflicting emotions hitting him all at once. Guilt at his happiness for Dele being single, disappointment and resentment that he had already set his sights on someone else.

 

"I'm sorry to hear that you split, but if you both like someone else, it makes sense. Does your new girl know that you like her?" He said with a lump in his throat.

 

Dele took his head off Eric's chest and unwrapped his arm from Eric's hip, then using his elbows to pull him up to his friend's eye line. "I don't know. I don't want to say anything in case it ruins the friendship we have."

 

"Any girl would be lucky to have you Del. I think you should tell her how you feel, if she says no, she isn't worth your feelings," Eric whispered.

 

"How should I do it then?" Dele asked sincerely, staring into Eric's blue eyes.

 

"Just tell her how- how you feel. From the heart and all that crap. Nothing's better than a cheesy confession to win someone's heart- or an impromptu kiss."

 

Dele nodded and pulled himself closer towards Eric's face. He leant on his right elbow as he ran his fingers airily over Eric's cheekbone.

 

"What are you doing, Delboy?" Eric asked shakily.

 

"I'm not much with words, so this will have to do. Please don't punch me."

 

"What-"

 

His question was silenced by the firmness of his friend's lips against his. Inside, his heart, lungs and every internal organ exploded as he let out a shuddery breath and snaked a hand into Dele's hair and pulled him closer. They broke for less than a second to breathe before returning to their scorching kiss that held so much passion, warmth and longing.

 

Without breaking apart, Dele crawled up onto Eric with his knees firm against the sides of the blonde's thighs. With chest touching chest and mouth touching mouth, it felt as though everything had fell into place and all the stress and worry of the tournament had fallen away to little more than background noise.

 

But then it hit Eric, he was snogging his best mate, his partner in crime on the pitch. Not to mention that Eric was very close to perhaps taking the kiss a step further in a country where they could be put in prison for seven years if caught under normal circumstances.

 

It was enough to sober him up. He pulled away from Dele and pushed away his chest, making him roll onto the best beside him. Once he was off him, he jumped up from the bed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't've done that. I just can't right now. I'm sorry Dele, it was a mistake."

 

Dele was speechless and looked mortified. "A mistake? A mistake, Eric? I like you for fuck's sake and judging by the way you kissed me back, you like me too. How is it a mistake?"

 

"It just is, Del! We can't be doing this right now, we have to keep our minds on the game. And you're not even gay, how can you like me?" He cried, pulling at his hair.

 

"I don't have to be gay to like you, Jesus Christ. There is something called bisexuality, you know. And we're not robots, Harry is always calling his missus, all the lads are. How is that any different?"

 

"It just is. Look, I'm going to go. I'm sorry I've fucked everything up. Fuck." He swore at himself.

 

"Eric, you don't have to go-" But he had already closed the door, leaving Dele to wallow in his confusion and heartbreak; what had he done.

 

-

 

T H U R S D A Y

 

It was three days before the final and Southgate had called the team into all day training. Eric and Dele hadn't spoken to each other since the night, a couple days before, other than brief comments and one word sentences.

 

When the day of exercises started, the two strayed from their usual pairing with each other and instead found partners in Maguire and Kyle. "Lover's tiff?" Walker had asked Dele when he ran over to join him.

 

"Sure, something like that," he replied curtly.

 

Meanwhile on the other side of the indoor pitch, Maguire was watching the fleeting looks that Eric threw now and again over his shoulder to where his friends did their exercises.

 

"You're acting weird. What's happened, Dier?"

 

"Nothings happened. Don't know what you're on about, Harry."

 

Maguire's raised eyebrows and unimpressed look told him that the centre-back didn't believe him one bit. "Well whatever happened, just apologise. You don't want to be pissed with each other over something stupid when we face Portugal on Sunday, do you?"

 

"Why do you assume that I did something wrong?"

 

Maguire shrugged, "if you hadn't, you wouldn't have just asked that question."

 

 

The rest of training consisted of longing glances thrown between the pair and the heavy burden of guilt sitting uncomfortably at the bottom of Eric's stomach.

 

Why had he been such an arse? All this time he had been longing like lovesick teenager over his best friend, and when the chance to show how much he cares and adores him, he instead pushes him away and crushes any chance of them being together post-world Cup. He was so worried that following his romantic feelings would be the thing to break their solid friendship, he couldn't help but notice the irony in his situation.

 

He had messed up big time. He had to make it right.

 

So when he saw the man in question walk down the same corridor he was in, he quickly looked around to check that there was no one around them and leapt on Dele, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him into the nearest open room- a broom closet no less.

 

"What the hell, Dier?!" Dele hissed and pulled his arm from the other's grip.

 

"I'm sorry, I just really need to talk to you."

 

"And it can't wait? You had to drag me into some closet- perfect setting by the way."

 

"Look I'm sorry. I messed up, I know. I hurt you and that's the last thing I want to do. When we- we kissed, my thoughts just started spiralling out of control and I couldn't deal with them so I did the most cowardly thing possible and made you feel like crap and lied to you.

 

"I care about you so much Del, so fucking much- you don't understand. I've been dreaming about that kiss for years, just being close to you sends my heart into overdrive. And knowing that you felt the same, short circuited me. Forgive me, Dele."

 

The midfielder looked at him gobsmacked and after an eternity (although really it had been only twenty seconds) he slyly grinned, "as an arguably wise man once told me: nothing's better than a cheesy confession to win someone's heart. And that was pretty damn cheesy, Dier."

 

"You're a twat, you know that. I've just poured my heart out to you and you're now cracking jokes about my corniness. I take back what I said."

 

"No you don't."

 

Eric sighed with a soft smile, "no I don't".

 

Dele grinned and stepped forward to kiss him, but Eric stepped back. Dele's eyebrows furrowed.

 

"I- I just can't kiss you yet. Not here. Not in a smelly cleaning cupboard. Not in Qatar. I want to take you on a date when we get home, wow you with my amazing charm and kiss the living daylights out of you somewhere where it doesn't smell of cheap bleach. When I kiss you, it's got to be spectacular. Is that okay?"

 

Although slightly dejected, Dele smiled softly and pecked Eric's cheek, and nodded. "You've got to be dramatic haven't you. But okay. You just better make it worth the wait."

 

They laughed and hugged each other tightly. It was going to be okay.

 

-

 

S U N D A Y

 

the stadium held its breath as Harry Kane struck the ball and sent it flying towards the goal; and a groan of disappointment echoed from the mouths of the English when Patrício caught it with the tips of his fingers and forced it to fly over the post.

 

A few minutes later, the half time whistle sounded and both teams left the pitch to head into their changing rooms. Once every man in white was in the room, Southgate began to speak.

 

"Okay lads, it's been a good first half. Yes, we haven't scored but neither have they and we want to keep it that way for them. This half, I want us to vary defence and attack a bit more, I felt that we were becoming a bit predictable so I'll be swapping a couple of you during this half I think.

 

"Dier, I want you off the bench in the place of Henderson. Alright lads?"

 

Both midfielders responded with "yes coach."

 

Southgate smiled at his team, "whatever happens next- remember that you've made history. You have made the country proud, your families proud and most importantly- you've done yourselves proud. We are the closest we've been to winning the tournament since 1966 and I believe that we can do it. I believe in you. So I want you to go out there and show the world what brilliant players you are and stick two fingers up to everyone that has told you different. Okay? Now, let's get to work."

 

Back on the field, it seemed as though both teams were running on a fresh pack of batteries. Ronaldo was tackling anyone who even briefly touched the ball and passed it down his team towards Pickford and the England goal. But the defence was strong and for every shot there was an opposition player ready to catch it and send it back.

 

Time was ticking down. Soon both teams had scored a goal thanks to Ronaldo and Welbeck. The whistle sounded. Extra time was needed.

 

The first half of ET went by with no goals and plenty of attempts not properly executed by both teams. With five minutes left, someone needed to score otherwise the two countries' hopes would be concluded with the universally despised penalty shoot out.

 

And that's when the ball landed at Dier's feet with a rather clear path he could take and send the ball into the net. He felt the stampede of feet approach him as he began to sprint with the ball, closer and closer to the goal. When Pepe ran and swiped to take the ball, he took the chance to kick it between his legs- a swift nutmeg- and continue his run. And when the coast was clear, he shot it with all of his might.

 

The white, mud splattered ball sliced through the air like a hot knife through butter and slipped beneath the goalie's gloved hand, hitting the net behind.

 

The roar that followed would be described as that of a pride of thousands of wild lions. And the field descended into euphoric chaos with players screaming and laughing and jumping and embracing as the final whistle sounded.

 

Eric ripped off his shirt and swung it around his head like many of his teammates around him. He couldn't believe it. They did it. They had won.

 

Southgate ran onto the pitch with all the other players and staff with him began to hug every person in his vicinity- English and Portuguese. And while Eric was being loving crushed by his captain's arms, his eyes searched for Dele. He received and gave one more pat and kiss to the cheek with Harry before running over to where Jesse, Marcus and Dele were celebrating.

 

He pulled his friend (boyfriend? Lover? Partner?)'s arm and wrapped his left arm around his waist. With his right, he held Dele's chin.

 

"This is spectacular," Dele said, eyes sparkling and daring. Eric couldn't help but desperately agree.

 

"Yes it fucking is!"

 

And in front of the entire world, they crashed together with hands in hair and on waists and lips locked together; tasting glory in each other's mouth.

 

The world's opinion could wait.


End file.
